Blanc Noir
by Catheryne
Summary: Chloe Sullivan's life extended beyond Smallville, Kansas. She had always been meant for something so much more. Chloe/Bruce, Whitney, Ollie
1. Default Chapter

Blanc Noir

Fandom: Beyond Smallville

Main Characters: Chloe Sullivan, Whitney Fordman, Bruce Wayne

Chloe Sullivan's life extended beyond Smallville, Kansas. She had always been meant for something so much more.

Prologue

The harsh light beat down on her arms. Her skin prickled still. Five days under the hot tropical sun. Chloe Sullivan trudged, waded more like, through the thick mud that came up to her thighs. She held her backpack over her head the way the guide suggested. Alright, he didn't suggest it. She saw him do it. If he had barked the suggestion to her she would not have known anyway. His English, if she could call it that, was a combination of sounds that Chloe had to piece together for two hours to make some sense of. And so when the guide hefted his own ratted knapsack over his head, Chloe did the same for hers as well. She didn't want to ruin her expensive camera. At a green age, she had gone through hellish months with Lionel Luthor just to be able to afford it. She prized the equipment above all others because of what it symbolized—an unwavering desire for truth and an unyielding quest for ambition.

To be fair, she learned from that old man something she still held close to her heart so dearly. When she was younger, she used to feel alienated because of her drive. Repeatedly she had asked herself if there really was nothing important to her. Did she not have the same values as her friends? Lionel Luthor, in a strike of grace and kindness, had told her that it was completely alright to be focused. She was going to have a future, he assured her, while the young men and women from her school who had no priority other than pep rallies and concerts would be stuck in the community forever.

True enough, Chloe found the ticket out of Smallville when she entered Metropolis University. Everything just picked up from there. Lionel was right.

Smallville would stone her if it heard that thought. It was an image that still made her lips quirk in amusement.

No sooner was she out of Smallville that she wanted out of Metropolis too. The city wasn't far enough. After the secret exploded, of the way she exchanged her best friend for a byline, and everyone whispered of Paris and the city of Troy, of Faust and his soul, of a kingdom for a horse, Chloe managed to raise her chin and wonder how the farm folk could suddenly come up with intellectual metaphors just to illustrate the extent of her betrayal. Maybe people had the capability to be literary when the insult was required.

Metropolis University, she had believed, was a gift. Yet there were the few familiar faces that haunted her. An acceptance to Columbia, for a radical and experimental journalism curriculum, was a blessing. Field journalism, they had called it. After two years in the classroom learning theory and writing based on the Code of Ethics and the grandfathers of the industry, the class was set free to investigate on the field, compile all relevant information in two months, and if situation called for it, abolish the theories learned.

Mystery called, but Chloe did not wish to answer. She kept herself on track and fell in love with one topic. Gone was the need to run back to Smallville and uncover the weird borne by the rocks. Chloe's heart now bled at a collage of the Kansas youth who perished in the war. She stepped closer and searched for a familiar face.

Whitney Fordman straddled the tank, frozen laughing, his arm raised in an immortalized cheer.

Her documentary, Chloe decided right then, with her green eyes reflecting the happy photograph of a man dead at eighteen, would be a compilation of video clips of these young Americans in enemy territory. She decided to be apolitical, because wasn't that how journalists were supposed to be? The was not about two powerful old men but about numerous armed yet powerless young men and women.

Chloe did not know she would become that idealistic. She loved herself for it.

"We near the camp," the guide yelled, the rising intonation of his native accent still evident. "You raise hands."

Chloe, still holding the bag up, arched an eyebrow. "Sure."

Her muscles were aching by the time they started up an incline that led to some patches of gray cloth. Against the green the patches could have been overlooked. The color was meant to deceive. Chloe was proud to be observant enough to notice the difference.

They were about halfway up the incline when she saw her guide stiffen. The usually quick native stopped in his tracks and looked down at her. Chloe let out a quick breath. He was going to let them rest now when they were so close? She was about to ask the guide what seemed to be wrong when he held up a hand, exposing his white palm. It was pretty universal as a signal for silence. Chloe spied a smooth boulder off to the side and turned towards it. That same split second, a shot rang out and the guide let out a gurgle, then fell facedown, tumbling down the incline. Chloe made the mistake of turning rather than getting down.

She heard the camp above them rise in activity. There were blurted out commands and stomping feet. Chloe saw a thin line of natives with shotguns trained up at the camp, and by translation at her. She stood between the two lines of fire set by the natives and her countrymen. Even before she could wonder if a government-issue bullet would be the one that would kill her, Chloe felt the sharp hot pain explode in her stomach.

She fell to her knees and clutched at the wound. Vaguely, she realized that her camera would either be trampled by the soldier stampede or be rendered completely useless if it rolled down into the thigh-high mud. Either way, she was no longer going to be able to use it. Belatedly, she realized she wasn't going to be alive to use it anymore.

Chloe was nothing if not stubborn. She allowed herself to fall to her side and pulled herself, using only her knees and one arm, to the side. With the last of her strength, she crawled to the other side of the boulder. The fighting raged on behind the flimsy barrier she had chosen.

The shots and blasts were not the music she had planned for on her deathbed. In war, no one could be choosy. She was in a tenth world country anyway, she thought bitterly. Sure, it was supposedly third world, but she was going to die here so it dropped several more notches in her opinion. Chloe wondered if her body would even reach the US, or if the victors of this short scuffle would find it and bury it with the casualties.

Chloe closed her eyes and sighed. She was dying. She should leave the endless questions out. Would that still be true to her nature though? Did she want to die on duty forgetting the only trait that made her so good, she believed at least, in this job? Ugh. Sometimes it sucked to be Chloe Sullivan.

"Chloe."

Her eyes fluttered and she squinted at the bright light. There was a figure in front of her. It was positively glowing. She didn't speak. If it was her guardian angel come to take her to heaven, she did not want to start their association with a question. Once she started with the obvious, 'Who are you?' she was sure to follow it up with a dozen other questions. Oh yeah, she knew herself.

The light dimmed a little as he knelt in front of her. Chloe smiled and prepared for this nice angel to pick her up and fly her to heaven.

Wow. Her guardian angel looked a little bit like Whitney Fordman.

Wait a minute. Her guardian angel was Whitney Fordman!

Her eyes widened. Did that mean that the entire time Whitney was alive, she did not have a guardian angel? Well that answered her question as to why she kept making bad decisions, falling for the wrong guys, and getting kicked in the proverbial ass?

"Surprised to see me?" Whitney asked, grinning.

"Damn right I am!" she snapped. She shouldn't be cursing. She was going to be judged in a few seconds...

"I'll explain everything later." Whitney slipped his hand inside her shirt and placed it on her stomach.

"Hey! Angel or not, I can still sue you for harassment. I know my rights!"

"Still haven't changed, Sullivan?" Chloe felt the warmth spread through her wound. "I'm thinking this won't be the most peaceful relationship."

"We're in a relationship?" she repeated, her voice a little louder now. Chloe felt leaps and bounds better now.

"Thinking of it in a guardian angel-charge light, then yes, we're in a relationship."

When Whitney took his hand out of her shirt, Chloe sat up and frowned at her surroundings. She was in a bedroom. Did she eat some sort of wild fruit that made her hallucinate everything? She doubted it, given how much of a stickler for whatever her guide was. She must not speak ill of the dead. Chloe turned to Whitney and opened her mouth.

"You're in the States. We're in a hotel in Gotham City. I figured you wouldn't want to land in Kansas yet. You're fine, not a scratch on your body. And no, this is not a hallucination."

Chloe's lips parted in surprise.

"And no, I can't read minds."

Chloe's jaw dropped.

"I just know you that well. I've been watching you, you know."

Her eyebrows furrowed, then she glared and growled.

"Never in a bathroom."

Chloe pushed him on the shoulder, lightly but with a sprinkle of malice.

"You'll be difficult, won't you?" he said then, worriedly. "I do have more charges out there. You'll need to behave so I can check on them."

Chloe opened her mouth.

"I'll answer your questions later. Right now, I'm hungry." Whitney walked over to the small refrigerator and pulled the door open. He took out a chocolate bar, tossed it at her, took another one and ripped off the cover. "Oh and you'll be paying for this with your Amex," he added. "My job doesn't actually pay real money."

Chloe blinked at the former (could she say late?) high school jock and watched as he ate the Snickers in two large bites. He couldn't just use her credit card, could he? "Are you allowed to do this?" Why did her voice come out in a screech?

Whitney sighed and sat in front of the vanity. Chloe now saw double of Whitney, and she had to admit he was still as pretty as he was when they were younger. "Technically, no. I was not even supposed to watch you. I'm a whitelighter now. After I got killed in the war, they asked me to be some sort of guardian angel for witches. But I couldn't help it. I was curious about Smallville."

Forget the credit card. He was talking about something way more interesting. "Then why were you watching me?"

"Tried to look into Lana and the guys on the team. Boring. Looked into your life and you were far more captivating." Chloe did not want to blush, but she never got what she wanted before so what's new. "You were traveling around the world. I was touched by your choice of a documentary. Then you got shot. I had to do it."

"So," Chloe clarified, "you weren't supposed to know anything about me." Whitney nodded. "You weren't supposed to save me and do the freaky mojo thing and heal the shot?"

"You should be dead," he agreed.

"Are you going to get punished?"

"Not if we keep it a secret," Whitney answered.

"Can we?"

He chuckled. "No way, man!" Then he sobered. "Shit."

"Can you still curse?"

"Damn," he muttered. Then Whitney winced. "I'm so fried."

Chloe walked over to Whitney and patted him on the back. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble. I wish I can help."

"I'm going to have to explain myself." He turned to her, a brilliant plan forming in his mind. "I know a way you can help."

"How?"

He vanished in a sprinkling of blue light, then just as quickly reappeared with a stack of index cards, which he handed to her.

"That was so cool," she murmured.

Whitney nodded. "Write down some arguments for me. Something I can flip through when I explain why I saved you when I wasn't supposed to let any mortal know that I was still alive."

"I can do that!" Chloe shooed him off the chair and proceeded to lay the index cards on the dresser. She opened the drawer and took out the hotel pencil. "I was meant to do good..."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

The heavy study door opened. The master of the manor looked up at the lean gray-haired man who stood at the entrance, waiting for admittance. He nodded at the new arrival and granted access, "Come in, Alfred."

The butler smiled and greeted, "Good morning, master Bruce." He walked inside bearing a tray with Bruce's choice breakfast. He placed the coffee in front of Bruce first.

"Thanks." Bruce took the hot drink and breathed in the heady aroma of fresh coffee beans. "Heavenly."

"I've always said, Master Bruce, that you should switch to my blend of English breakfast tea.''

Lips that did not often see smiles curved a little. "And as I've said before, the day I switch to tea is the day I'm immobile and you'd be pouring it down my throat."

Alfred grinned. "Very well, Master Bruce."

"Don't get any ideas," Bruce warned lightly. He waited for Alfred to put the bagel in front of him, and then step backward. "That bad?"

Alfred looked down at the rolled down newspaper on the tray. "We do have other papers in the house, sir. I can bring them for you."

Bruce shook his head and held out his hand. Ever since he discovered the underground newspaper a few months ago, he could not stop. It was like a vice to him. It did not deter him when the paper started featuring more and more stories of what the editor had called, 'the Dark Avenger.' He was intrigued more and more by the type of journalistic style this C. Sullivan was practicing. He got the best shots, the best stories, the closest scene descriptions of anyone but he sure was never around when any of those things happened. Bruce was sure of that.

He unrolled the paper and revealed the contents. The front page of the paper heralded, DARK AVENGER LORDS OVER GOTHAM. There was a photograph of the villain tied upside down to a post with the police surrounding him. The caption read in small print, 'Batman once again underlines police incompetence with capture of Gotham City's most wanted.' Dark brows met in displeasure. He may have only taken the necessary brush through high school journalism but he was certain that editorializing had occurred. That was a crime against news stylesheet rules.

"Shameful," he decided. Bruce looked up at his butler and folded the paper. "This editor doesn't even know simple journalistic etiquette." He handed the paper over to Alfred.

Alfred took it and walked over to one side of the office. He opened the cabinet doors to a stack of similarly folded papers. His master was undoubtedly irritated by the newspaper itself, but he had the odd knack of collecting them to look over again. Bruce Wayne was certain to get riled, but often he needed the push.

"Do you wish for me to arrange a meeting with the editor, master Bruce?"

Bruce Wayne paused for a moment analyzing his answer to the question. And then he decided, "Not at the moment, Alfred. I will need to see on my next night out how anyone can possibly spy on my excursions. It's close to impossible."

"C. Sullivan must be getting information from someone within the vicinity of your activities," was Alfred's input. "And there is nothing wrong with it, master Bruce. He beat you fair and square in the game if he is able to get the information. However, he must be reminded that we cannot displease the police."

Bruce nodded. "I am walking on thin enough ice here as it is. Commissioner Gordon only allows this to continue because of my success in cleaning up the streets. If people start to think Batman is the only reason for some of the peace, I will never be able to ask for his assistance again."

Alfred looked at his wristwatch and then back at Bruce. "Will I be preparing your suit for the office, sir?" inquired the butler.

"The dark blue pinstripe if you will, Alfred."

Trainer as he was to hide his reactions, Alfred felt comfortable enough with his charge to mention, "You only wear that on special occasions. Dare I hope you have something planned for the early evening?"

"A dinner," Bruce offered. Alfred did not leave the room. "I met someone at the building coffeeshop. It will not interfere with my… job. She will not suspect anything from my mysterious absences. She will not even care. Very casual."

"The amount of words you have used on that description answers my every question, master Bruce. And it tells me that she is quite attractive."

Bruce nodded. "She is lovely and unassuming. Perfect for what I need for these days."

"A companion who will not ask or demand. What does she do?"

"Chloe writes children's books."

"Very well, master Bruce," Alfred said, impressed. "It seems that you have found the girl who will not test your limits or your patience. I wish you luck on your dinner. You will find the blue pinstripe on the bed and a bouquet of tulips in the backseat of the limo."

Just before the butler left Bruce in the study, Bruce called out to him. "Alfred, skip the tulips and order a bouquet of roses. She seems to me like a very traditional type of woman. And instead of the limo, I believe I will drive myself tonight."

Just as Chloe was zipping up her dress, she felt warm fingers close over hers on the zipper. She shrieked in surprise and whirled around. She found Whitney glaring down at her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

Whitney raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. "I'm helping you zip up," he told her.

She raised her finger and waved it in front of his face. "I thought we had a deal that you are never to pop in while I am in the shower, naked, or singing!"

"I don't see you in the shower or hear you mouthing off arias," he argued. "And you're not baring anything at the moment. Don't yell at me, Chloe. I was offering to help you."

Chloe's eyes narrowed at Whitney. Then, realizing it was hopeless, she allowed him to zip her up. Then, she backed Whitney until the edge of the bed was against the back of his knees. She pushed him backwards and he flopped onto the bed. "You're mad. You're glaring at my shoes. What is so wrong now?"

"You are what's wrong," Whitney admitted. "You've made up this entire lie, Chloe."

"Whit," she sighed. "I am doing what it takes to expose the underbelly of Gotham City. We went here because you had charges who live here right? Isn't it good that I'm helping clean up this place so they can be safer?" She sat on the bed beside him and took his hand in hers.

"Protecting my charges is my job, Chloe."

"Creating this documentary is mine, Whitney. You know that."

"You know that protecting my charges is my priority. You're going to endanger yourself doing this and I can't think of you before I think of them."

"That's fair," she allowed. "I'm not asking you to worry about me at all."

The hand she was holding turned in hers and he entwined his fingers with hers. "It's not as if I have a choice on that, Chloe."

"You almost got in trouble because you saved my life once, Whitney. You don't need to do it again. Let me worry about the consequences of my actions this time. I'm not doing anything dangerous."

He shook his head, and he looked so sincere and worried that Chloe reminded the young football player whose first thoughts were always of Lana. "Is that why you're going out on a date with a man you believe is secretly funding the underground activity of Gotham City, Chloe Fordman, children's book writer extraordinaire?"

Chloe gasped and jumped up. Her arms akimbo, she cried out, "You promised to stop spying on me, Whitney!"

He shrugged and smirked. "You can't lie to me, Chloe. I'm going to know that you're doing stupid things for the sake of a documentary. You already died because of it once."

"It's not a stupid documentary, Whitney. And when I got shot, it was not a stupid documentary either," she insisted firmly.

"You were making a film about how bad it is out there is the war," Whitney argued. "People already know that! You were not thinking then, and you're not thinking now."

"Stop it, Whitney," she muttered.

"You're willing to die to tell people how awful crime is, and how sad war can be?" he prodded.

"Whit—"

"Chloe, all these things are obvious. The president is not going to sit through your documentary and then suddenly call of the war. Bruce Wayne will not sit through it and decide to stop laundering money from the crime lords."

"Whitney, shut up!" she exploded. "I chose this place so that I won't see you go through the pain of losing another charge because she got stabbed in a Gotham City alley. This is why I'm making this documentary, okay? I'm not going to sit back and watch you killing yourself with guilt because you weren't fast enough, or clever enough to know that she would go there running after her cat, and end up raped and murdered for a piece of junk hanging down her throat. Stupid girl should have given up the pendant and escaped with her life," Chloe spat out, remembering the pain of knowing that Whitney, her friend and her savior, felt personally responsible for the woman losing her life. "And don't you ever call my war documentary stupid because I put my heart into that crappy film you say it was. I wanted to make it in your memory, Whitney!"

After that admission, she stomped away from the whitelighter jock and grabbed her purse and shoes in one hand. Chloe stalked out of the hotel room and slammed the door.

Whitney sat stunned at her revelation. He had always been irritated with how she kept endangering her life when she made her documentaries. What he was not able to connect was the relationship between her subjects and herself. Truth be told, since he found out inadvertently that she had agreed to go out with Bruce Wayne, Whitney had been more than incensed that she actually had a job. He did not even believe Chloe's initial theory that Bruce had something to do with the crime. Rather than tell her so though, Whitney started feeding her with insinuations that Bruce might be the leader of Gotham's dark side.

He suddenly had the urge to run after her. Whitney did not think it through. He jumped towards the door and grabbed it. He swung the door open and yelled, "Chloe!"

He stopped still at the sight in front of him. Bruce Wayne was down on his knee, helping Chloe slip on one of her shoes as she leaned with her hands on his shoulder. Both turned towards him.

"What is it, Whitney?" she asked coldly.

"What time will you be home?" he choked out.

Whitney saw Bruce whisper something, and Chloe responded quietly, "He's just my brother coming to visit." To Whitney, she said, "I'm a big girl, Whitney. Don't wait up."

Bruce slipped on her other shoe and straightened. He walked over to Whitney and offered his hand. "It's good to meet a relative of Chloe. I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Whitney Fordman," Whitney said, shaking his hand.

"Look, Whitney," Bruce said, "I know you're worried about your sister."

Whitney met Chloe's eyes over Bruce's shoulder. "Desperately worried all the time that I drive her insane," he said, as much to Chloe as it was to Bruce.

"I completely understand that," Bruce said graciously. "If I had a sister as lovely as she is," he continued, glancing at Chloe who seemed decidedly uncomfortable with the exchange, "I would drive myself mad wondering if some guy is treating her right." He turned to Whitney again, "Rest assured she will be fine. Since you're visiting from out of town, I'm sure you want to get as much time with her as you can. I'll take her home early so you'll have some quality time."

Chloe waited for Bruce to come back to her side. When he reached her and took her by her elbow, she murmured, "Thanks, Bruce." They started down the corridor towards the elevator. He pushed the button and as they waited for the lift, she glanced towards the hotel room. Chloe's breath caught when she saw that Whitney was still by the doorway, watching her.

The elevator doors opened. When Bruce put his hand on the small of her back to usher her in, she looked back towards Whitney and gave him a curt nod of goodbye.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I decided to continue this story that has been WIP for too long.

Part 3

His hand was warm around hers as he assisted her into her seat. Chloe shivered when he whispered into her ear, "I'm really happy that you agreed to this invitation, Ms Fordman." His voice was low and deep, and Chloe inhaled deeply, controlling her reactions. Under suspicion of illegal activities or not, Bruce Wayne was still an attractive man and she was still a woman, despite not having had an actual relationship Jimmy.

The restaurant was spectacular. She supposed Lana had experience this with Lex; Lois with Oliver. This was the first time she was going to be wined and dined by a sinfully rich date, and Chloe's jaw almost dropped at the view. They were on the top floor of a glass tower, and Gotham City lights surrounded them.

"The pleasure was all mine. This is astounding," she replied, her face bright with her smile. She tried to be as completely unassuming and as cheerful as what she suspected children's books' writers should be. "Imagine my surprise at being invited to dinner with the legendary Bruce Wayne."

He gave her a small smile, and Chloe felt her gut fall to the floor. How was she to focus on her task when he was being so irresistible? She wondered if Bruce suspected that she was only hiding behind this identity, and that was why he was oozing with sexiness? Perhaps in an effort to break her he was acting like this, and then when he finally succeeded in the inevitable—that of getting her into bed—he would unmask her for the fraud that she was and send her home. If her suspicions were correct though, of him funding the underbelly of Gotham, that would be the best case scenario. Bruce Wayne could easily decapitate her and send her head off to her editor as a message—like the horse in Godfather.

And suddenly she was happy that Whitney Fordman was a sick voyeur who was probably watching her every move. If he was in any way late to her rescue—could he heal decapitated bodies? She made a note to ask about that later.

"Tell me, Mr Wayne," she started the fishing expedition, "where do you invest?"

His eyebrows rose. "Not a common question on a first date."

"I'm sorry. Did I offend you?" Chloe blushed, and she was happy to have managed a real flush to her cheeks because her real self actually thought the question was too forward. "People tell me I get too blunt sometimes."

"People," he repeated. "Like who?" Bruce asked, turning the tables on her.

Chloe recognized the move, and she almost clapped and congratulated him by saying, 'Well played.' Instead, she kept her focus. She had sharpened her instincts at parrying and deflecting from having grown up conversing with Lex Luthor. "Friends, family. No one you know," she finished with a grin. "I understand one of the biggest investments of Wayne Enterprises is real estate."

Bruce moistened his lips, and evidently weight the benefit and disadvantage of answering the question. "Not exactly. Wayne is a conglomerate. It's the safest way 

to operate a business these days. But we have a huge stake in technology, bio research, foods, shipping, steel, transportation – naval and aerospace, medical—The list goes on. Real estate was big during my father's time. Recently, the biggest part of the company is in WayneTech." He frowned, because he realized that he sounded very much like he did when giving press releases. "Tell me, Chloe, what was the last children's book you wrote?"

Her eyes fell to the salad that was placed in front of her. She had prepared for this, as she did with all her other covers, but she usually did not need to work so hard. Bruce was obviously used to dupes, and knew how to rattle them. She answered swiftly, "Watcher Angels. I have a very small publisher so you probably wouldn't see it in your big bookstore chains."

He seemed genuinely interested when he asked, "Curious title. What is it about?"

"About different guardians that we have," Chloe told him. "Angels. Or even superheroes."

He cocked his head to the side. "I remember you said you used to live in Metropolis. Any chance this was inspired by your primary colored hero?"

She nodded. "Superman was one of the inspirations. But there are so many! The book talks to children about superheroes, angels, and the most accessible guardians of all—their parents."

"Sounds lovely," he answered in a gravelly voice.

She met his eyes, and for a brief moment, she forgot that she was on the lookout for any slip that would tell her that Bruce Wayne was the dark lord of Gotham City crimes. Before her sat a man who lost his parents too young. "Bruce, I'm sor—"

"Stop," he cut her off. "No need to apologize. I think it's a wonderful concept."

Chloe smiled gratefully. "So now I know what businesses Wayne is involved in.  
She tried for another bait. "I know you have a business manager, right?"

He nodded. "That's why I can still afford to bring lovely ladies out to dates and have a social life."

"So if Lucius Fox runs the businesses, what is your role in Wayne Enterprises?" she asked curiously. Chloe almost hoped he would confess that he was a useless billionaire who only waited for dividends so that she could suppose that he had absolutely no involvement with crime funding.

He grinned. "Chloe Fordman, are you asking me if I do actual work?" Bruce shook his head. "I'm the CEO. Even if I don't get into as much detail as Lucius is supposed to, I live a busy life."

"The face of Wayne," she said.

"That's right. Charity events, social functions, bait. I'm all that for the company." Chloe chuckled at the false modesty, because when she was a reporter covering 

young billionaires in the Daily Planet, she had material on Bruce's actual tasks in Wayne Enterprises. "Tell me about you, Chloe."

Whenever this happened undercover, she tried as much as possible to stick to truths because it was easier to remember in the long run. She conceptualized the lie for the bigger picture, but did not touch the smallest details. "Well, I suppose that's fair given that I probably know the equivalent given your very public life." She took a deep breath. "I lived in Smallville, Metropolis, Chicago, LA, Star City—"

"You moved around a lot."

"I did. I grew up with only my dad."

His brows furrowed. "Did your mom die when you were a kid?"

And this was the one detail she found it easier to lie about. "Yes," she answered. "When I was five." His hand closed over hers. "But my dad was fantastic. He's a great guy. Imagine raising a little girl all by yourself. We were inseparable, the two of us."

His hand squeezed hers. "Neither of you were close to your brother?"

"My brother?" She stopped. "Oh. Whitney!" Chloe shook her head. "Whitney's my stepbrother." Damn Whitney for showing up. He complicated the entire situation. She had to be ready with better material regarding Whitney's presence in her life. "My dad remarried when I was eighteen."

"He seems awfully protective of a new stepsister," Bruce commented.

"Yeah, he—he--," she took a deep breath. "He lost a sister when he was very young. Lana," she blurted out. Chloe was going to strangle Whitney so much he was going to die all over again.

A sudden hush fell over the restaurant, and Chloe idly thought that her lie got everyone stuck dead by lightning. Instead, she saw the people around them looking out at the sky outside, some pointing. She turned her gaze towards the direction of their stares and found a large oval symbol in the night sky.

"Excuse me."

"I have to leave for a bit."

They spoke at the same time. Chloe broke into a grin. Bruce called the waiter and told him to put everything on his tab. "Bathroom?" he asked.

"Yes," Chloe managed carefully, her eyes veering towards the symbol again. "It's coming from the police building," she whispered.

"Work emergency," came his explanation. "I just need to dial into a conference call, and then I'll be right back. Is that okay?"

"Of course," was her response.

Bruce quickly made his way to the elevator. Once he was gone, Chloe rushed to another elevator.

Chloe should probably get on Bruce's case about Wayne Transportation because the traffic in Gotham City was hell. She got off the cab and climbed up the fire escape in her red heels. Chloe winced in disgust as she touched something sticky on the rail. When she finally made it to the rooftop, her eyes widened. She had written articles upon articles about the Dark Avenger, but this was the first time she would see him in the flesh—or rather in gleaming black leather. She usually arrived at the scene after the Batman was gone and she could only take pictures of the aftermath.

He was conversing with Commissioner Gordon. This was priceless. Her entire series on Batman was about the vigilante always making the law enforcement officials look bad. She grabbed her high res camera phone from her bag. Thanks to WayneTech, she had a palm sized phone capable of taking raw image file photos for use in her article. "Scoop," she whispered, and then took a picture.

She could not tell what the conversation was about. The moment that Batman zipped down from the rooftop, Chloe made her way back down the fire escape. Chloe flagged another cab and returned to the restaurant.

She ran out of the elevator and saw Bruce Wayne sitting at their table. He looked up when she arrived.

"That was a quick call," she observed breathlessly.

"And that was a long bathroom break," he parried with a smile. Bruce stood up and pulled up her chair for her. She settled back down. "I'm glad we can pick up where we left off."

"Of course," she exclaimed.

Chloe held her breath when Bruce suddenly leaned forward towards her, his fingers reaching for her cheek. She felt her eyelids getting heavier. Her lips parted in anticipation.

And then Bruce rubbed his thumb against her cheek. "Is that soot?"

Soot? Her eyes shot open. She knew those railings were filthy. "Yeah. I think they had a small fire in the bathroom that they never cleaned up properly."

He shook his head. "Chloe—"

"Never mind."

His phone chirped from his pants pocket. Bruce stiffened. "Chloe, I don't usually do this on first dates. I don't want you to have the wrong impression."

"It's perfectly alright, Bruce."

"I promise that I'll call you. Let's do this again if you don't completely hate me yet."

At the back of her mind, something alerted her to the quick way that Bruce stood and the purposeful stride he used to get to the door. He was hiding something. She was sure of that. The entire night wasn't a bust. She called the waiter and asked for the food to be wrapped for takeout.

Whitney would adore this steak.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

"Do you even really need to eat?" Chloe asked as she watched Whitney wolf down the steak that she had taken home from the restaurant. Her lips quirked when he looked up at her and blushed. When she made her way back to the apartment after the less than stellar end to her date with Bruce, she had assumed that she would be curling up alone in the couch watching Conan. Instead, Chloe opened the door and found Whitney Fordman wearing her carpet with his pacing.

She handed the food over to him, and he raised it to his nose. "Red meat," he murmured.

"Medium rare," she replied, knowing the exchange of four innocuous words spelled the end to their passionate spat earlier.

Whitney swallowed the steak and answered, "Just because I don't need food to live, it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the delicious taste of a seventy dollar steak."

She arched her eyebrow. "That's exactly how much it was. You weren't spying—I mean, looking after me, were you?"

Whitney dropped the fork and knife, then raised his hands in mock surrender. "I stayed away the entire time. But I know how much a six pound steak costs in the most expensive restaurant in Gotham. It's a given that Wayne would take you there for a dinner date."

Chloe smiled. "Are you implying that the man needs to buy my affection?"

He sighed. "If he did, it would be through expensive jewelry."

She shrugged. "I can use some new earrings." At his look of disbelief, Chloe chuckled. "Relax, Fordman. Don't tell me dying made you lose your sense of humor." Hearing the words she said herself, Chloe corrected, "Nope. You never had a sense of humor—even in high school."

Whitney opened his mouth to retort. The sound of the doorbell cut him short. Chloe's eyes widened. He immediately stood up. "Who knows you live here now?"

She shook her head. "Just my editor. This is undercover, and I've only started on the assignment a week ago."

"Kent?"

He was off with the rest of the Justice League, and after Chloe decided to leave, she had cut all ties with them. She would never put it past them to locate her though. Oliver Queen sure had enough resources to be successful. She held up a hand, then walked over to the door. She peered through the peephole. At the sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

"It's just Bruce." And then she wondered why she should be relieved. She was investigating the man for funding the mob, after all. She turned to Whitney.

This time, he was the one to raise a hand to stop her. "No need to ask. I'm gone."

With the same amazing whirling blue lights, Whitney left an empty room. Chloe took a deep breath, then opened the door.

Bruce Wayne stood on the other side with an apologetic look on his face. He gave her a lopsided smile. "I was half afraid you would be so angry you wouldn't even face me."

Her eyebrows furrowed and she frowned. "I thought I was clear that it was okay."

He shook his head. "I'm not proud of it, but this isn't the first time that this happened. Women are never just okay with it."

Chloe stepped back, then gestured for him to come in. "I'm not like most women you've dated, Bruce. No offense."

"None taken," he murmured. He looked around the room. "Where's your brother?"

And then she was suddenly aware that with Whitney gone, she and Bruce were all alone in her apartment. It was a large space, but Bruce himself was so imposing that it seemed like he took up so much space, and it was crowded. Chloe sucked in her breath when he leaned over to close the door behind her. "He went home."

Bruce nodded. "And where is that?"

"This might come as a surprise, Bruce, but I don't want to talk about my brother."

"I'm really sorry."

"You said that," she replied, very aware of how close to her he was standing. "And I've told you that I'm not mad."

His hand rose to cup her cheek. "You're the most understanding woman I've met then."

She grinned proudly, trying to mask her breathlessness at his touch. "That's me. After all," she told him, and she cursed herself for sounding out of breath, "how can I write lessons on selflessness and patience if I can't practice those traits?"

"Children all over the world are earning halos because of you," he commented, oddly following the conversation despite not really understanding what they were talking about and why.

"I was never a very good kid," she shared.

"You probably were," he told her.

Chloe beamed at him. When he was standing so close, holding her so intimately, she wondered from whose ass she pulled her theory on Bruce's illegal activities. This close, he couldn't be a criminal. No mastermind ever smelled this heavenly. "What do you mean?"

Bruce took a small box from his pocket and opened it, then presented it to her. Chloe's lips parted at the sight of the blood red rubies blinking up at her from their velvet bed. "I brought these to amp up my apology."

"You don't need to bribe me, Bruce."

"That much is obvious now. But I still want you to have these."

Despite the banter she had shared with Whitney earlier, Chloe took a deep breath and reached out to close the lid on the box. She then pressed the box forcefully onto his palm, then closed his hand over it. "I'm not taking them. And don't ruin the night by insisting."

Bruce looked bewildered, but slid the box into his pocket. "How many dates does it take before I can give you a gift?"

Chloe shrugged. "I'm a firm believer of quality over quantity."

"Reasonable expectation," he said. "And I know tonight is probably not the best date you've had in your life."

"Oh!" Chloe grinned. "You mean because you left so abruptly earlier at the restaurant, then you came here planning to buy forgiveness?"

He winced. Bruce had no doubt that if Alfred heard all that, he would clear his throat and wonder what had possessed him. "It sounds so bad when you put it like that."

Chloe placed a hand on his chest. "Believe it or not, this is probably in my top five best dates. You never tried to kill me once throughout the night."

"That was a joke, right?" his voice rumbled in his chest.

"Of course."

He took her hand in his, then brought it up to his lips. "Give me another chance. I'll make sure we have a date that you will remember forever."

"I don't know." Chloe bit her lip. "I'm booked from tomorrow onwards. Raincheck? Maybe next week?"

"I was actually getting that chance tonight—turn this date around."

Chloe laughed and looked up at the wall clock. "Bruce, it's already eleven."

Bruce took her hand and said, "It's eleven only in this part of the world."

She looked down at their linked hands, then up to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with warmth and a trace of humor, as if doing this cheered him. She had studied his countenance many times in photographs before embarking on this assignment, had watched his profile as he spoke in interviews. This was the first time he saw a glint of playfulness in his eyes. "Are you serious?"

He tugged at her hand and Chloe stumbled into his arms. "What do you think?"

Chloe took a deep breath, then nodded. She twisted the doorknob and they stumbled towards the elevator. She pressed the button for the ground floor. Bruce pulled her to him and leaned down to kiss her. Chloe's arms rose to loop around his neck and returned the kiss with as much fervor that he lost his balance and backed towards the back wall of the elevator. She giggled when he grunted at the impact. "People are going to miss you tomorrow," came her soft protest.

"Good thing I'm just a face for Wayne," he replied. "Lucius can manage."

"I'll be so behind in my writing," she added.

"Children read slowly," he reasoned. "You have time before you need to crank out another book."

Chloe chuckled. The doors of the elevator opened. He took her hand and led her outside. Bruce opened the door to the black towncar for her. A couple of passersby stopped a few feet away and pointed up. Bruce and Chloe both looked up curiously and saw the Bat signal stark against the black sky.

It was Chloe who grabbed his sleeve and said, "I completely spaced. Let me go grab my purse. I can't go out of the country without my passport, or a phone." Little white lies.

Surprisingly enough, Bruce immediately agreed. "I'll meet you at the airport." He started walking off.

"Bruce, your car," she reminded him.

"Take it." He raised a hand and flagged a cab. Before she could tell him that she was not comfortable with his suggestion, he was already gone.

Chloe got in the car and told the driver. "Two hundred dollars. Take me to the police station. And Mr Wayne never finds out."

Even at near midnight, Chloe was shocked and frustrated that traffic was still hell in Gotham. When Chloe finally got off at the station, she ran over to the familiar fire escape rail. She was about to climb when she heard the groan.

Chloe slowly made her way to the alley, eyes wide with caution. Her heart thundered in her chest. For the first time, she wanted to call to Whitney for added protection. Chloe had been investigating since she was in high school, even before she got a personal guardian angel. If she succumbed to fear now and called Whitney, then she would be proving his point on her reckless assignment. She stifled the urge to cry out for Whitney. Instead, Chloe turned the alley and saw the very same figure she had featured in many of her lambasting articles.

The Batman, cloaked in his same black armor suit, stumbled against the wall, clutching at his side. Chloe stepped forward and asked, tentatively, "Are you okay?"

She heard his sharp intake of breath. "What are you doing here?"

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "I came to check if I can help you. You look hurt."

"I'm fine," came the raspy voice. The Batman straightened, them stumbled to his knees. He cursed. "Get out of here. They might come back and find you here. I'm not in any shape to protect you."

Chloe folded her arms across her chest. "The last time I checked, you're the one bleeding and I'm standing right here, safe and sound." She was itching to reach for her camera phone at least. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

He leaned against the wall, then glanced down at the torn piece of his body suit. What the hell kind of weapon tore through Kevlar like this? "This is bad."

And then she was kneeling in front of him. He stiffened when she reached for the pieces of his suit and peeled it off the scorched and bloodied flesh. "Oh. We need to get you to a hospital."

The blood was pooling on the ground beneath him. "Never mind." He locked his jaw against the steady pain, keeping his teeth from chattering from the cold clinging to his body. "My car's coming." His eyes drooped from the blood loss.

Chloe had seen people go through this too many times not to recognize the signs. Arrogant vigilante or not, he did not deserve to die in a filthy alley. "It would be better if we removed your mask. I promise not to take pictures of you." And then she paused. "This time."

He was fading in and out, but Bruce's mind still processed the comment and her presence there. "C Sullivan," he whispered.

Concerned about his wound, Chloe simply said, "At your service."

"I clean up Gotham and you turn it into a scandal every time." His voice trailed off.

She looked up at the Batman and found him already unconscious against the wall. "Oh no," she whispered. Chloe placed her hand over the wound and closed her eyes, willing the wound to heal.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

"Master Bruce," came the warm, familiar voice. His eyes fluttered open and found himself staring straight into the kind eyes of his butler. Bruce started in his bed and sat up, only to find himself collapse back into the soft comforter as nausea sent his head spinning. "Relax, Master Bruce. If the condition of your suit is any indication, you've lost a lot of blood."

Bruce took deep, calming breaths as he urged the dizziness away. "Suit?" he rasped in question. His hand automatically went to his side.

"There's no mark on you, Master Bruce. Particularly odd given the state of your suit."

_He opened his eyes to see her hovering above him, pressing a hand against his skin, stemming the blood pouring out of his side. "It's going to be okay," she said soothingly._

His eyes fluttered open. "Alfred, how did I get here?"

"I assume you had called for the Batmobile before you passed out."

"Yes," he whispered, "I remember."

He remembered more, of course. Slowly, it returned.

_He was in and out of consciousness. She was lying there, in front of him, sprawled on the wet cement. Bruce placed a gloved hand on the ground and pulled himself towards her. "Chloe," he called out. He was completely exhausted. His weakened state caused his elbow to collapse. His gaze went to her still face, and his skin prickled at the sight of her slack, blue lips._

"_Chloe!"_

_A flash of bright blue light appeared in the alley, and Bruce shielded his eyes. And then there was a panicked shuffle before a man in faded blue jeans knelt in front of him, covering Chloe's form from his view. "Chloe," the man's voice said. "Chloe, answer me." Bruce watched as the man turned to face him. He recognized the man as Chloe's brother, though after finding out that she wasn't who she told him she was, even this fact he doubted. "What did you do?" he demanded venomously._

"_Nothing," Bruce claimed. "How is she?"_

_Whitney Fordman turned back to the woman lying in the alley and took her up in his arms. Bruce's chest constricted when he saw her hang limply from Whitney's arms. Whitney looked at him in disgust. "Some hero you are. She's dead."_

_Bruce watched as Whitney walked away with Chloe. He pulled himself up, clinging to anything he could hold on to. When he looked up again, they vanished in a flash of blue lights._

"Oh God," he groaned. "Chloe."

Then the old man's face gentled, and with a smile, he assured him, "I've taken care of it, Master Bruce."

"Taken care of what?" Bruce inquired. He doubted that Alfred could possibly know that Chloe had been in that alley with him unless someone found her body. He doubted Whitney Fordman would abandon her like that.

"I assume given the fact that you made arrangements for the jet and for the car to pick you up at her apartment that night, you had a date with Ms Fordman." Alfred cleared his throat when Bruce looked surprised. "Your father had always rather been grateful for how astute I am."

"I am too. But what did you do?"

"I called her home and informed her that you were ill, and didn't want to make her sick as well."

Bruce pulled himself up and sat up with his back against the headboard. "What do you mean you informed her? You talked to her?"

"There wasn't an answer." Bruce's heart sank. "I left a message on her machine." Alfred noticed the shift in his demeanor. "What is it, Master Bruce?"

"Chloe—She's dead, Alfred."

"Sir—"

His eyes rose. "She's dead. I saw her dead. Right in front of me." Bruce shook his head. "I couldn't protect her, Alfred. She was right there with Batman, and she was alive. Then, she tried to help me and the next thing I knew, she was dead."

"Master Bruce, it couldn't have been any of your fault."

Bruce's gaze went to the discarded costume on the floor. Alfred was right. The state of the Bat suit left nothing to the imagination. He was as good as dead in that alley, and Chloe had known it too. The damage had been disastrous. Bruce had no idea how it was that he was alive now. Nor did he have a clue how Chloe went from tending him to lying in front of him dead.

"Get rid of the suit, Alfred."

The old man obediently gathered the black Kevlar in his arms, then walked over to the door. Before he left, he turned to Bruce, "Master Bruce, the blood on this suit tells me that you couldn't have done anything to help her. At least you're alive."

Alone in his bedroom, Bruce leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"_What are you doing?" he choked out. There was a warm tingling sensation where pain had resided before. Bruce could see the tightness around her lips. "You're in pain."_

"_It'll be okay," she responded."You'll be fine."_

And he lived through it, just as she had promised. He had hovered between life and death until she placed a hand on him. He did not know yet what she had done, but Bruce knew he was right there on the edge of death. He had teetered, and she tore her away from the claws of the graveyard that he had been dancing with since he was a child. In return, he thrust her into her own death, all because he had been chasing a man whose sole desire was money.

He should have taken her away in his jet that night, ignored the call of the Bat signal, and fled to the other side of the world the way he had intended to do. If he had, she would still be alive, and maybe he would be smiling again.

Bruce pulled himself out of bed. He glanced at the desk clock and saw the numbers at the side. It had been two days since the night. He could not believe that he was still lying about. The man who killed her—

He had been the one to kill her. She had been healthy and alive until she touched him.

Bruce brushed the thought aside. He had an eternity to feel guilty for his part in her death. He needed to focus now on getting justice. The man who Bruce had been chasing after, who almost killed him, was still out there enjoying the spoils of his victory. Sometimes it was almost laughable to Bruce how these criminals could cause such destruction for a measly amount. He would wire him double the thirty million the man stole if they could just turn back time and he could keep an innocent woman's blood from staining his hands.

He went to his closet and pulled out a pair of jeans. Bruce then shrugged on a black turtleneck.

"Master Bruce, you're up."

Bruce turned to Alfred and replied, "Justice doesn't find you in bed."

"Maybe it does," came a voice from behind the butler.

Alfred showed no emotion. "I had requested that you wait in the living room, sir," he told the new arrival. To Bruce, he announced, "You have a visitor, sir. Mr Queen is here."

"I can see that. Thank you, Alfred."

The older man shuffled away with full dignity. Oliver stepped out of the shadows and into Bruce's room. His cautious eyes scanned the surroundings. Bruce shrugged and assured him, "There are no bugs in this room, Ollie."

Instead of taking him for his word, Oliver took a small device from his pocket and turned it on. He watched the LCD monitor for thirty seconds, before nodding in satisfaction. Oliver slid the device back in his pocket. "You almost died. I think you did. For about two seconds, you were dead, Bruce."

The dark-haired man set his jaw at the new information. "You're still monitoring my vitals?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "I monitor the life functions of every person with ability that I believe can help bring justice in the world. Humanity has too much to lose for even one of us to fall."

"I'm alive now."

"And I'm grateful for that," Oliver responded. He walked over to the wall, and looked down at the carpet where the suit had previously sat. Oliver toed the shag and saw traces of blood. He looked up at Bruce. "But this shows you how vulnerable you are out here alone. You can still decide to join us. With a team behind you, no one has the power to take you down."

"I can't leave Gotham yet." Not when there was a scared little rodent somewhere out there who creamed at the sight of money. "I have something left to hunt."

"Sounds easy. I'll pick up my bow and we can hunt it down together."

Bruce held up a hand. "This is my prey, Arrow. It's personal."

Oliver nodded. "Well, I've got what I came for. I'm leaving Gotham immediately. Call me when you're ready. The offer stands, Dark Avenger."

Bruce winced at the use of the nickname that Chloe had coined, to berate him as a vigilante in the headlines. The name would stick, even after she was gone from the newspaper. After Oliver had left, Bruce went down to the kitchen and found two editions of the Gazette on the counter, from the two days that he had lain in bed. He picked up the first one and opened it to find the editorial written by another byline. He tossed the paper to the side and saw the small box welcoming a new editor on board.

She was really gone.

He knelt on the floor beside the bed, holding his hands above her still form. Whitney willed the lights to come, the way he had willed them to come in the alley. Nothing. He looked up at the ceiling. "I know I can't heal the dead, but just once, can you break the rules for me?"

Silence.

Whitney looked up at her ashen face. "Just one breath, Chloe. One breath to tell us you're still alive, even barely, and this will work." He took a deep breath that he didn't need. "One breath is all that matters." He closed his eyes and raised his trembling hands over her heart.

When he opened them, she was the same. Gray lips, cold, dead. Whitney ran his fingers through his hair. He collapsed onto the floor and stared at the unmoving figure. He covered his mouth with one hand, then set his jaw. He had served them since he died, and the years of service should be worth something. Whitney looked up again, towards his destination, and orbed out.

The door to the apartment burst open. In walked the impressive figure with a green cowl. The Green Arrow surveyed the room and saw the still figure on the bed. He approached the bed carefully and stopped still when Chloe took a deep breath and sat up on the bed. She turned wide eyes at him.

His lips curved into a smirk, and lifted a bag of takeout in front of him. "Hungry, Watchtower?"

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

"Arrow!" she exclaimed.

The cloaked figure moved forward and handed her a wrapped burger. "Sorry I couldn't pick up something better. I wasn't sure what state we'd find you in."

She shook her head while unwrapping the burger. Chloe bit into it once, then again and again. "So good," she said with her mouth full. She continued eating until she had finished off the food, then blinked up at her savior. "How did you find me, Ollie?"

The figure pulled off the cowl since there was no longer any point for the disguise. "I've always known where you were."

Chloe crumbled the wrapper in her hands. "If you did, then how come this is the first time you've shown up?"

"This was the only time you needed me," he said with conviction. "You were doing well enough on your own."

"Well," she managed, "thank you." Chloe stood up on shaky legs. "I assume you want something in return for the favor."

"For the burger?" he clarified.

"For saving my life," she told him.

Oliver hesitated, wondering whether or not to correct her assumption. Instead, he said, "You have always been a welcome addition to the League, Chloe."

"And I've been helpful whenever I could," she added.

"Until you decided to abandon your calling," Oliver continued.

Chloe sighed, then leaned back against the wall. From her sitting position on the bed, she regarded Oliver in full costume, with his arrow slung back over his shoulder. There was a time when she thought he was one of a kind—for his heroism and his desire to do good. He was unattainable and she admired him so much she knew that she had to serve him in whatever capacity the League required.

But she was young then, and the group of costumed people was the only exposure she had to heroism. Her viewpoint was narrow then, and she had not yet appreciated the heroism of the ordinary young men and women that she had eventually featured in her documentary. _Whitney_, she thought.

"Ollie," she said urgently, "did you bring me here?"

"I found you here," the Archer clarified. "You led me down a merry chase. Your life signals stopped in an alley by the police station, but we couldn't find you there. Impulse was frantic because there was a pool of blood."

"It wasn't mine," she offered, wondering what happened to the Batman. Surely Whitney would have taken care of him. He was the only possible way that Chloe ended up waking in her apartment instead of the city morgue. Guardian angels don't choose who to save, did they? He must have saved the Batman too.

"Come with me, Chloe. It's not safe for you here in Gotham. You have no one to protect you."

And she remembered the stubborn overprotective fit that Whitney had thrown when he found out that she was investigating Bruce Wayne undercover, and even the bloody and injured Batman stumbling around telling her he couldn't protect her so she had better run. "On the contrary, Oliver. There are two men who have tried to do just that."

"Who?" Oliver asked curiously, the hero recruiter in him rising at the prospect of new blood.

She smirked, because she knew exactly what Oliver was considering. "I highly doubt you can convince them to join you. One's dead and a member of a whole other group way up there," she said, pointing to the sky, "and the other one is a criminal who had an odd obsession to Gotham City."

At that, Oliver grinned back. "What an odd band of protectors you have then. It certainly doesn't compare to one made up of a philanthropist, an environmentalist, a thrillseeker and a journalist."

"Or better yet, a drunken playboy, a radical activist, a petty thief and a farmboy."

Oliver shook his head. "That's how we started out. I want to think that we've grown from that." He turned a serious look towards Chloe. "Are you sure, Chloe? We're keeping close tabs on you and we'll run to you when you need us. But when you're not close, we don't know if we're going to arrive too late."

She set her jaw. "I came here with a mission," she told him. "And it's not done. I need to find out who's funding the criminal activities here in Gotham. I think I'm circling the right target, and then he does something that makes me doubt it. Now I feel like I should get someone else's help to prove it—someone of your heroic persuasion."

The only one close to a hero of their type in Gotham was the Batman, and Oliver was starting to suspect that his genius Watchtower was for the first time thrown for a loop. "And who are you investigating?"

"The only one in Gotham who would have enough resources to fund something like this," she told him. Ominously, she pronounced, "Bruce Wayne."

Oliver chuckled. She glared at him. "Can you be helpful without being insulting?"

"It's just—" Oliver cut himself off and raised his hand for silence. He turned towards the door and raised his bow. "Behind me!" he roared towards Chloe. Chloe stumbled to crouch behind Oliver. He raised his cowl and within a split second, gone was the friendly banter and he was back to being Green Arrow. Two men burst into her apartment and he fired four successive arrows, pinning them to the wall and releasing a vapor to render them unconscious.

He walked towards the men and took his arrows back. He wasn't going to leave any signs that he was just here. He turned back to Chloe, who was now coughing from the smoke. "You're not safe here, Watchtower. Come with me."

She looked back at the unconscious men now on her apartment floor. This time, she placed her hand in his.

Whitney orbed back into the apartment, defeated upon hearing the answer the Elders gave him about his lack of ability to bring people back from the dead. He wondered if his charges could do it, because he knew they had magic that could perform tricks that even he could not do. He had disobeyed the Elders enough to know that if he did this, his wings would get clipped forever.

But it would be worth it, just to see those blue lips grow pink again, for those cold cheeks to warm.

He materialized at the center of the apartment, dreading to see the still form on the bed. When he focused his vision, he saw the bed empty. His senses heightened and his gaze was captured by the wall just a few feet from the door. Whitney walked towards the wall and saw the holes on the cement.

"Chloe!" he called out, even though the dead couldn't hear.

Someone had taken her, and he felt sick to his stomach that he had failed to protect her again.

There was only one person that could do this, one person she had been investigating since they arrived in Gotham. Whitney ignored the ringing in his ears that told him that the Elders were calling him back. Instead, he orbed towards Wayne Manor.

Whitney watched the bastard from afar. Bruce Wayne sifted through the newspaper carefully, probably to make sure that he had eliminated Chloe once and for all. Whitney stalked towards him and ripped the newspaper from his hands.

"Where's my sister?" he demanded.

Bruce looked up in surprise. He cleared his throat. "Mr Fordman."

"You're the last person to have seen her alive. Where is she, Wayne?"

Bruce's throat closed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Softly, Whitney said, "She's dead, isn't she? What more do you need from her? Why take her?"

Bruce stood up. "She's missing," he said, repeating what he had learned. He had known she was dead. He was right there and he saw her body in that alley. In the back of his head, he vaguely remembered seeing Whitney carry her away, and he had supposed that he had taken her to the hospital in a valiant effort to save her. There were even blue lights, and as he drifted into unconsciousness he had thought, hoped, that it was an ambulance.

"Don't pretend you don't know. You were the last person who was in her apartment. Where is she, Wayne?"

And he remembered the last time he was in that apartment, offering earrings as a bribe because he couldn't be a better date, stumbling out the door and into the elevator like college students ready to rip each other's clothes off. They seemed so normal then, like she wasn't really the editor of the Gazette undercover as a children's book author and he wasn't really the Batman.

Maybe if he didn't run at the call of the signal, they would already be in that other part of the world, and she would be alive in his arms.

"I don't know," he repeated.

Whitney looked into his eyes and snarled, then walked out of the door. Bruce watched him leave, disturbed by what he had learned. Chloe was out there, and he was sick to his stomach by the thought that his enemies could have taken her just because she had been seen with him several times already. Who the hell stole a billionaire's dead girlfriend? Then again, knowing the profiles of the deranged villains of Gotham City, he shouldn't be surprised.

"You have everything you need?" She nodded. Oliver assured her, "This place is surrounded by every enhancement necessary to ensure that no one can detect us—by machine or by whatever meteor power there is. We deflect their signals. No one will be able to track you down here."

Which probably meant even Whitney couldn't listen in to her, she thought. She would have to find a way to let him know she was fine, and she needed to get past Oliver to do it. She couldn't risk anyone else finding out about Whitney.

Oliver seemed satisfied with the protection the room provided, and he stepped outside to close the door behind him. Just then, his phone rang. He raised it and looked at the caller ID. "That didn't take long."

"I'm not calling to join you," came the deep voice on the other end. "But I do need help."

"Who are we taking down?" was Oliver's first question.

"I need to find the sick fuck who kidnapped my girlfriend."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "I think this is a job that the police can handle."

"No," Bruce's voice rumbled. "I want you and your team on this."

"No offense, Wayne, but our areas of expertise are not—" He sighed, because he could not think of a better way to phrase his refusal of the small task without offending him. "We're about blowing up entire compounds of illegal detention and testing; or taking down masterminds of different—" He cut himself off again. His voice dropped. "I didn't even know you have a girlfriend."

"I had one," Bruce answered. "Batman killed her."

Oliver closed his eyes, because it meant that his friend's alternate life had threaded into his personal one, and the obvious consequence followed. It was why he was firm in keeping the two lives apart. "I'm sorry."

"They took her body, Ollie. For God knows what." Oliver heard Bruce's audible breath. "Never mind. I'll do it myself. This is the only call you'll get from me, Oliver. I'm not joining your team."

Bruce hung up the phone, and Oliver did the same. As much as he understood Bruce's pain, there was no way he could sacrifice the League's precious time trying to retrieve a dead body when there was so much to do. First on his plate was to find out who was trying to kill Chloe.

tbc


End file.
